


It Never Happened

by crocodile_queen



Category: South Park
Genre: Everyone is eighteen, High School AU, M/M, a little bit of kyvid, background Creek, background bendy, bottom!stan, boys avoiding confusing feelings, drunken hookups, top!kyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_queen/pseuds/crocodile_queen
Summary: 'As Stan rolled over he expected to see Wendy’s sleeping face on the pillow next to him. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d had a drunken hook-up since they broke up. But before he even saw the face his mind slogged its way out of the hung-over swamp in his brain far enough to wonder, Gee, Wendy’s hands sure are big, and her body sure is hairy, and where are her breasts?Stan rolled to his side and came nose-to-nose with Kyle.'The one where Stan and Kyle have a drunken hook-up and try to pretend like it never happened. That goes about as well as expected.





	It Never Happened

When Stan woke up on Saturday morning it was to a splitting headache and a warm body pressed behind him. He groaned, mashing a fist against his sleep-crusted eyes. He turned in the arms locked around his waist as memories of the previous night slowly began to trickle back to him.

Clyde had thrown a party for…something. The whole school had been there, crammed into Clyde’s three-bedroom house, dancing and drinking. He remembered the pounding music and Kyle by his side, telling him to slow down with the booze. He remembered seeing Wendy, wrapped up in some faceless person’s arms, making out against a wall. After that he could only capture snatches of thoughts—yelling at Wendy, the cold splash of a drink being thrown in his face, Kyle drunkenly slinging an arm around his shoulder, more dancing.

As Stan rolled over he expected to see Wendy’s sleeping face on the pillow next to him. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d had a drunken hook-up since they broke up. But before he even saw the face his mind slogged its way out of the hung-over swamp in his brain far enough to wonder, _Gee, Wendy’s hands sure are big, and her body sure is hairy, and where are her breasts?_

Stan rolled to his side and came nose-to-nose with Kyle. The other boy snored softly, his red hair splayed out on the pillow in a tangled mess. He grunted as Stan shifted beside him and squeezed his hip as if to pull him in closer.

It was the press of Kyle’s thumb digging into his bare skin that had Stan throwing back the covers and revealing their naked bodies tangled around each other. Like a bucket of cold water the memories of what could’ve only been a few hours ago came flooding back.

Dancing in the living room with Kyle, jumping and grinding bodies on all sides of them, squishing them together like a couple of sardines. Somehow their hands had found each other’s hips and then Kyle’s crotch was sliding against his. Picture frames hanging on the hallway walls had passed them by as they’d stumbled, giggling and wrapped around each other like weeds, to the nearest bedroom. Then it was just the boom of the door being kicked shut, clothes being hastily torn off, and the smothering sensation of sheets on one side and hot skin on the other.

Kyle had slurred things Stan couldn’t remember but his fingers hadn’t shook as he’d pried Stan’s thighs apart and-

Stan sat up bolt right and winced at the ripple of pain that arched through him. He stared down at his lap with dawning horror.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “I bottomed.”

He glanced at Kyle, at the sheets pooled around his knees; saw his cock nestled between his legs-

_“Mm, yes, fuck-k, Kyle—ah!—fuck-!”_

Stan sprang from the bed and nearly fell to the ground in a heap from the sharp pain pounding against his temples. Gasping he stared down at the dried come on his stomach, which he guessed must have been his own but swallowed thickly at the mess crusting his inner thighs.

He stumbled to the bathroom, ripped some toilet paper from the roll and turned on the sink, too afraid that the noise from the shower would wake up Kyle. He furiously scrubbed at his skin, tearing the wet toilet paper beneath his fingers. He threw the remains in the toilet bowl but didn’t flush. He picked his clothes up from where they were scattered on the floor and hastily dressed with his back to Kyle.

He only looked at his friend once, as he was leaving. He caught a glimpse of the slow rise and fall of Kyle’s freckled chest before he was out the door.

As he shuffled through the hallways, littered with plastic cups and crushed pretzels, his mind was in a muggy whirl.

 _What the fuck? What the FUCK?_ he screamed internally, the memory of warm hands stroking him everywhere haunting him.

He stumbled into the living room, where the majority of the party seemed to have passed out. Cartman, inexplicably wearing a bra over his shirt, was slumped over the coffee table. Craig, using the full recline of the lay-Z boy was laid out flat on his back with Tweek strung over him, their snores mingling. Jimmy was laid on his stomach across the kitchen counter, his crutches standing up in the sink with tinsel looped about them. Clyde was awake, maneuvering around Jimmy’s unconscious body as he fried bacon in a pan. In blue marker the lyrics to _I Have Nothing_ were scrawled across his chest.

Clyde glanced up at Stan’s footsteps, sleep still creased around his eyes.

“Finally!” he said, throwing up his spatula. “Next time use my parents’ room, would ya? I had to sleep on the floor.” His cross glare turned to a sly grin as he asked, “Sounded like you had a fun night though. So, how was Wendy?”

“I-“

Before Stan could even think of a way to answer a croaky voice said, “Huh?”

They glanced over and saw Wendy sit up from behind the sofa. A moment later Bebe appeared beside her. Both had lipstick smeared over their faces and were peering groggily towards the kitchen.

Clyde turned a confused stare to Stan.

“But I thought she was with-“

Stan bolted. He ran as fast as his sock-clad (he couldn’t find his shoes) feet would carry him. He burst out the front of the house, the sunlight immediately assaulting him. He winced as more pain flooded his skull and blinked past the tears springing to his eyes to see Kenny, passed out on the front lawn.

He was face-down in only his boxers. For a moment Stan was worried be was dead. He poked Kenny’s ribs with his toe and breathed a sigh of relief when he stirred.

Stan dropped to his side and shook his shoulder.

“Dude, wake up,” he urged. “Kenny, come one, you gotta get up.”

Kenny hissed as he rolled onto his side and blinked blearily at Stan. “Stan? Dude, what the fuck…?”

“We gotta go,” Stan said, throwing the pair of jeans half-stuffed in the Donovan mailbox at Kenny.

Kenny sat up with a groan and began stuffing his feet down the pant legs.

“Why, exactly?”

Stan tried not to think about Kyle sleeping inside. “Something happened.”

Kenny paused to raise an eyebrow. “You wanna be a bit more vague there, man? I think you’re cluing me in too much.”

A frustrated sigh ripped from Stan’s throat. “Would you just hurry up and come on?”

Ten minutes later they were sitting in a Denny’s, sipping coffee they’d bought with a ten-dollar bill Stan had found stuffed in his pocket. Kenny sat, shirtless, slurping noisily from his mug and smiling pleasantly at the waitress whenever she frowned at them.

“So,” Kenny finally said, setting down his mug. “You want to tell me what’s up?”

Stan picked nervously at the fraying threads at his knees. He couldn’t look Kenny in the eye and he kept shifting in his seat. The uncomfortable ache in his ass was not helping in the slightest.

“Okay,” he began, setting his hands down flat on the tabletop. “What would you say if, hypothetically, I told you Kyle had sex last night?”

“ _Kyle had sex?_ ” Kenny exclaimed, loud enough to make the few other diner patrons turn and stare at them.

“Shut up!” Stan hissed, fighting the urge to hide under the table. “I don’t think they heard you on the moon!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kenny said but his wide smile told him he wasn’t very sorry. “Man. Kyle hasn’t gotten laid since, like…what was that girl’s name? Lacey? Halle?”

“Hailey,” Stan supplied.

His lip curled at the thought of the pretty blonde girl from out of town Kyle had dated for the summer before she left with her family back to Florida. He’d never liked her but Kyle sure had.

“That’s it,” Kenny snapped his fingers. “ _Hailey_. Geez, that must’ve been, like, a year ago now. Good for him.” He paused to look at Stan quizzically. “I’m confused as to why you dragged me to this Denny’s to tell me that though.”

Stan coughed into his fist, eyes immediately darting back to the tabletop. “Well, what if I told you— _hypothetically_ —that the person Kyle slept with…was me?”

Kenny had chosen this moment to take another swig of coffee. His eyes exploded to the size of dinner plates and he choked in his mug. He practically hacked up his lungs as he coughed and Stan knew they could never come back to this Denny’s.

Kenny got enough control of his diaphragm to stare at Stan with red, tear-stained eyes and croak, “ _You fucked Kyle?_ ”

“Please be fucking quiet!” Stan stage-whispered. His face was on fire and he knew he looked like a tomato.

Kenny slowly sat back up in his seat. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well, neither was I.”

“What the hell happened? I don’t remember much of last night.”

“Me neither! We were both drunk out of our minds, and I was mad about Wendy, and I just woke up and there he was.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“I don’t know! He was sleeping when I left.”

“Stan.” Kenny’s voice deepened with reproach. “You did a hit n’ run? Not cool, man.”

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” Stan dragged his beanie down, over his eyes.

Had Kyle woken up yet? Was he freaking out too? Was he wandering the house looking for him? Did he hate him now?

Kenny didn’t appear to be sharing in Stan’s inner turmoil. “How about, ‘hey, that was fun, let’s do it again sometime?’”

“No!” Stan nearly yelled. “That’s not—we were both really drunk, okay?”

“I’ve done a lot of crazy shit while drunk but I’ve never fucked one of you guys,” Kenny said.

Stan’s phone began to buzz on the table. He glanced to the screen, saw Kyle’s name, and slapped his hand over it. Kenny stared at him as he held his hand there.

“You gonna get that?” he asked.

“Nope,” Stan replied, staring straight ahead.

He only lifted his hand once the phone stopped buzzing. The message that he’d missed Kyle’s call popped up like an accusation on the screen.

“Man, you can’t ignore Kyle forever,” Kenny sighed.

Stan pulled his beanie back over his eyes, which still rejected the early morning light. “I know.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Stan groaned and felt it all the way down in his bones. “I don’t know.”

 

Hide.

It turned out what he was going to do was hide.

Stan had rushed home after his coffee with Kenny and locked himself in his room. He tried to ignore the meltdown in his head by playing video games but his phone continued to buzz with calls and texts from Kyle. Eventually he stuffed his phone under his mattress and left it there to die.

Little details of that night kept creeping up on him and bringing him back to reality whenever he began to drift off. He remembered Kyle getting frustrated with the buttons on his shirt as he tried to take it off and Stan just ripping the shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere. He remembered falling backwards onto the bed and Kyle doing a running leap to jump on top of him. Clyde’s pitchy singing of a Whitney Houston song had leaked through the walls. Stan had smothered his laughter into Kyle’s neck and Kyle had whispered, “You’re beautiful,” into his ear.

He whimpered at the thought of what they’d done, at what he’d let Kyle do to him. Kyle must hate him now. Stan must have reached for him first. And now, because he’d probably been feeling sorry for himself and sought out the first comforting shoulder he could find, he’d ruined their friendship.

And worse yet, he found himself thinking back on those glimpses of memory, of touch, and sweat, and white, hot pleasure, and asking himself, _Did I like it?_

He’d caught himself looking at boys, even when he was with Wendy. Never voicing any of the thoughts he’d had or even digging into them too deeply, lest he upset the scene he’d made of having a pretty girl on his arm. But he’d be watching Kyle and the other South Park Cows on the basketball court, find himself focusing on the way their muscles shifted beneath glistening skin as they ran and dribbled the ball. He found himself not repelling from the heavy odor of sweat that hung over Kyle post-game or flinching when he threw a friendly arm around Stan’s shoulders and drawing him nearer to that scent that seemed to say ‘ _Come closer’_.

But they had just been thoughts, nothing to concern him over. Because he’d had Wendy.

They were no longer thoughts though. They were the little hickeys Kyle had left scattered across his neck and chest. They were in the way Stan scrubbed harshly at his thighs in the shower that night so not a single speck of DNA was left as evidence of the come that had dripped down his legs. They were the force with which Stan bit his lip as he remembered the sensation of being filled by Kyle’s cock.

They were there as Stan jerked off under the hot spray of the shower to the memory of Kyle pounding into him. He came quickly with a strangled cry then slumped against the cool tile, hating himself.

He was the worst.

 

Stan walked to school Monday morning with dread curdling in his guts. He’d spent Sunday much the same way he’d spent Saturday: curled up under his covers, pretending nothing existed. He hadn’t returned any of Kyle’s calls or texts and still had no idea what the hell he was going to do.

When he actually saw Kyle his chest just about collapsed. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Kyle at his locker, which was just down the hall from Stan’s. Just the sight of him had Stan dashing around the corner, only peeking out enough to see the other boy.

Dark circles ringed Kyle’s eyes but he held himself with the same ramrod straight posture, refusing to let anything slump his shoulders. All Stan could think off was how those shoulders had felt under his grip as he’d brushed Kyle’s shirt off his body. Kyle unloaded a few books from his locker, then peered up and down the hall, as though in search of something.

Stan ducked out of view, heart hammering against his ribs. He stayed there and waited until Kyle passed him by. He loosed out a breath once Kyle turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did he venture to his own locker.

He took his time, loading the appropriate books into his bag, and then took even longer walking to class. He hung back when he saw Kyle standing in a bunch with the others outside the classroom door. Only once the door opened and they all piled in did Stan slink after them.

He refused to look Kyle’s way as he took his seat but he could feel the heavy wait of Kyle’s gaze burning into him throughout the whole lesson. He mostly kept his head down, not focusing on anything but the blank page of his notebook beneath him. He caught snatches of conversation; Red and Bebe giggling about something to do with Wendy, Token complaining about his parents grounding him for falling asleep at the party, and Cartman bragging that he’d beaten Craig in a drinking contest.

Stan only glanced up once and it was to see Clyde staring at him quizzically. The moment they locked eyes both boys looked away.

As soon as the bell rang Stan ran from his seat, ignoring Kenny’s call of his name. He didn’t stop until he reached the bathroom and locked himself in a stall.

He managed to avoid Kyle for the rest of the school day and instead of catching the bus, once again walked the hour’s distance home. He opened the door to his dad sitting on the couch with a beer.

Randy called out a, “Hey, Stanley, how was school?”

Stan replied, “If anyone asks, I’m not here.” He raced up the stairs to his room and slammed the door behind him.

He let his backpack fall to the floor and collapsed face-first onto his bed with a groan. Not two minutes had passed when a soft knock came from his door.

“Go away,” he said into his pillow but the door creaked open anyway. He sat up, saying, “Mom, I took out the garbage this morn-“

His voice crackled and died as he saw Kyle standing in the doorway. Despite his thin stature he seemed to take up so much space, blocking out all the light from the hallway and sucking it up himself.

“You weren’t on the bus so I was watching your house, waiting for you to come home,” he explained, staring at a spot over Stan’s shoulder.

“How’d you get in here?” Stan asked, feeling stupid.

Kyle shrugged. “Your dad let me in.”

“Damn it, Dad,” Stan cursed.

Kyle closed the door and it was that definitive click that had Stan’s shoulders dropping. He drew his legs up to make room on the bed but Kyle sat at his desk instead. Stan thought that was probably a good idea; they weren’t back to a bed-sharing place yet.

“Look,” Stan began and wanted to just leave it there, didn’t want to get into it at all. “I get it if you’re mad at me-“

“Yeah, I am mad,” Kyle snapped and Stan winced. “You’ve been avoiding me for two days!”

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, picking at his comforter. “I didn’t know what…” his voice trailed off weakly.

They both sat in silence for a minute, the weight of unsaid words between them. Stan tried to swallow but his throat was drier than sandpaper. He sighed internally.

_You’re going to have to do this eventually, Marsh._

He steeled himself and finally looked up at Kyle, only to find the other boy already staring at him. He was trapped in that gaze, knowing he should probably look away but unable to; he’d never been able to resist when it came to Kyle’s attention.

It was Kyle who spoke first.

“Do you hate me?”

The question shocked Stan so thoroughly he couldn’t speak for a second.

“I- _What_? Why would I hate you?”

“ _Because_.” Kyle’s fair cheeks were stained with red. He waved his hands vaguely in the air. “Because of what happened. You’re not talking to me.”

“That’s because I was freaking out!” Stan said, trying to keep his voice down. The last thing he wanted was his dad to come and check on them.

“Well, I’m freaking out too, Stan!” Kyle, who seemed less concerned about prying parents than Stan, yelled. “I woke up and you were gone and I get _nothing_ for two days, and when I finally do see you, you can’t even look me in the fucking eye.”

Stan looked up and locked his gaze back on Kyle, as if to say, _I’m looking now_.

The fight visibly deflated out of Kyle. His eyes, like two hard chips of wood, softened.

“Just tell me if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I’ll get it.”

Stan, against his better judgment, reached out and grasped Kyle’s elbow. Kyle jolted at his touch but didn’t pull away. He blinked at Stan and Stan just dug his thumb into the soft groove of skin below his bicep.

“Dude, I thought you hated _me_ ,” Stan said. “I thought I ruined everything.”

Kyle swiveled in Stan’s chair to face him front-on. “It wasn’t you, dude, it was both of us. We were-“

“Really drunk,” Stan cut in and they both laughed short, breathy laughs.

“ _Exactly_.” Kyle sprang on this excitedly. “We were drunk as _shit_. I mean, who hasn’t had a drunken hook-up with a friend, right?”

“Right!”

Stan released his arm and they both leaned back, cutting shy glances from each other to around the room.

“I just…” Stan rubbed at the nape of his neck. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Me neither,” Kyle sighed with what sounded like relief.

“Okay then.” Stan swung his feet to the ground and sat knee-to-knee with Kyle. “It never happened.” He stuck out his hand.

Kyle readily shook and nodded. “It never happened,” he agreed.

They played video games for the rest of the afternoon, pretending it had never happened.

 

Kenny fell into his seat next to Stan in English the next day and immediately asked him about Kyle.

“So, did Kyle catch up with you yesterday?” he asked, totally ignoring the lecture they were getting on grammar.

“Yes,” Stan whispered back. “But it’s cool. We talked it out and everything’s fine now.”

Kyle, who took AP English, wasn’t there, reliving Stan from drawing his attention away every two seconds.

Kenny’s bushy eyebrows knitted together. “So you guys are…?”

“It never happened,” Stan said at the same moment Kenny said, “Dating?”

They both frowned at each other.

“What do you mean, ‘it never happened’?” Kenny asked.

“I _mean_ ,” Stan said, side-eying Craig to his right, who appeared to be trying to balance a pencil on his nose, “we both agreed that it never happened and to move on. Which means you can’t talk about it ever again. ‘Cause it never happened.”

Kenny hummed thoughtfully. “O- _kay_. I can see a few holes in your plan though.”

“Like what?”

He juggled his hands as though weighing invisible arguments. “I don’t know, maybe, ‘cause it _did_ actually happen, for one thing.”

“No, it didn’t,” Stan said, turning to face the front of the classroom. “Stop telling lies.”

“Dude, you’re friend-zoning _yourself_ ,” Kenny lamented. “Why would you do that?”

Stan cut Kenny a glare. “Because that’s what I want. Kyle and I are friends. That’s it. End of story.”

Kenny sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Whatever you say, dude.”

When lunch rolled around Stan didn’t hesitate to take his usual spot next to Kyle. He slid along the bench and stopped just short of their thighs touching.

“Hey, dude,” Stan greeted.

Kyle didn’t look up from the book he was reading but raised his hand. “Hey.”

Kenny looked between them but Stan ignored him, turning his attention to his mashed potatoes. He only looked up when Cartman began to snigger. He found Cartman’s beady, little eyes on him and for a moment the floor seemed to drop from under him.

_Oh God, he knows._

_Heknowsheknowsheknows-_

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Stan,” Cartman laughed.

He sensed Kyle tense up next to him and resisted the urge to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“What’re you talking about, Cartman?” Stan drawled, trying his best to sound unperturbed.

Cartman just nodded to a spot across the room. Stan’s gaze followed the motion until it found the girls’ table on the other side of the cafeteria.

Wendy was sitting on Bebe’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was texting on her phone, smiling when Bebe whispered something in her ear. Her ninja skills must have picked up on them because she glanced up to see their whole table staring at her. Her mouth hooked down and she flipped them off before turning back to her phone.

“Wow,” Craig said. “Who knew dating Bebe would make Wendy cool?”

“What the fuck?” Stan said, finally breaking out of whatever trance seeing his ex-girlfriend sitting in the lap of another very female person had placed over him. “When did this happen?”

“Who knows?” Cartman mused while Token said, “A couple days ago.”

“What I _do_ know,” Cartman continued, ignoring Token, “is that you turned your girlfriend gay. How does it feel, Stan? To know that you turned your girlfriend gay? I’d hazard a guess at ‘unpleasant’.”

“Fuck off,” Stan muttered. “I didn’t turn anyone gay.”

“Of course, Stan.” Cartman leaned across the table to pat his hand. “Whatever helps keep the lost vestiges of your manhood intact.”

“Well, gee, Stan,” Butters said from the end of the table. “Don’t feel too bad. Maybe she was just usin’ ya for- for a beard or somethin’.”

“To be fair,” Clyde pondered, “I’d date Bebe over Stan too.”

“Me too,” Craig agreed. “And I’m gay.”

A patter of laughter and several more “me toos” followed this. Stan just glared at all of them.

Cartman turned his grin on Kyle. “How about you, Kyle? Would you date Bebe over Stan?”

Kyle, who hadn’t looked up from his book once, still stared at the page in front of him. “You’re fucking hilarious,” was all he said.

This earned more laughter from the guys, who soon turned their attention away from Stan’s now-gay-ex to talk about the upcoming basketball game. As Token rattled off all the ways in which they were going to crush the opposing team Stan couldn’t help but blink at Kyle, who hadn’t really answered the question.

Stan and Kyle had made a deal years ago that they would always go to each other’s respective sports matches. This meant Kyle had to pretend to like football and Stan had to squish onto the bleachers in the gym to watch basketball. It wasn’t a bad system; they’d end up going to Taco Bell afterwards, only offering to treat the other if they’d won their match. That day it was Stan’s turn to play cheerleader, so he was sat next to Nichole, who had to take a break from _actual_ cheerleading duties due to a broken leg.

He pointedly ignored Wendy and Bebe as they ran onto the court with the rest of the squad. When they were done he clapped politely, so as not to seem an asshole.

Nichole whistled when Token ran out with the rest of the South Park team and Stan was tempted to join her when he saw Kyle, jogging into position. Stan had always thought the team uniforms were flattering but now he found himself growing hot at the sight of Kyle’s bare arms and his hair pulled back from his forehead with a sweatband. The two captains shook hands and Kyle glanced in his direction just before the referee blew his whistle. Stan only caught a brief glimpse of nut-brown irises before the sound of gym shoes squeaking on the floor filled the room.

Despite all of Token’s talk about crushing the competition, the away team was giving the Cows a run for their money. The game was tight, with no more than six points ever between the teams on the scoreboard. It just made Stan whoop harder for every shot Kyle landed through the hoop.

“Oh, my God,” Nichole muttered as the opposition landed a three-pointer. “If we don’t win this thing I’m going to be hearing about it for the rest of the week.”

“Tell me about it,” Stan answered, thinking of how riled up Kyle got after a loss.

He seemed to take the other team’s victory as a personal affront on his character. It probably didn’t help that Stan wouldn’t buy him Taco Bell either.

One thing Stan could say for Kyle was that he was riveting to watch on the court. He controlled the ball with ease, ducking and swerving around the defense. Watching him take the two stomping steps and leap to perform a lay-up gave Stan shivers. It was the complete, unnerving focus he gave to the game that shrunk his already short temper.

Stan could see the anger building in him from the heavy flush of his skin and the tight set of his jaw as the opposing attacker continued trying to get past Kyle’s defensive stance by ramming his shoulder into Kyle’s chest. Stan could practically hear the seething monologue going through Kyle’s head and grinned.

After the sixth ram, Kyle snapped. He lashed out and slapped the ball from the other player’s hands, immediately springing on the attack. He thrust his own shoulder out and barreled past his player with enough force to send the guy falling on his butt. He dribbled past the sole defender and jumped high enough to touch the hoop, shooting the ball the rest of the way. It swished through the net and two more points were added to the Cows’ score, as well as a glare from the coach. Stan saw his lips move and guessed he was giving Kyle and earful over the possible foul.

Kyle shrugged as if to say _, Worth it_.

Stan’s cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning. He felt a familiar surge of fondness flood his chest. That feeling of ‘that’s my best friend right there!’ He supposed it was the same pride parents felt when watching their children— _or_ , he thought, glancing at the kiss Nichole blew to Token, _the feeling couples have for each other_.

The Cows ended up winning by ten and Stan joined the crowd in a celebratory moo. Kyle jogged over to him, eyes bright with the thrill of victory. He squeezed his water bottle over his head and shook side to side, droplets flying from his ginger curls. He swiped his glistening forehead, a mix of water and sweat, with the back of his hand and held his other palm up for a high-five.

Stan slapped it. “Sweet game, dude.”

“Assholes never had a chance,” Kyle grinned, throwing an arm around Stan’s neck to slap his shoulder.

Stan jumped at the sudden weight of Kyle’s arm and caught a whiff of that post-game musk. The smell of him curled around Stan, invading his senses and threatening to turn his knees to jelly.

Kyle’s arm tensed up and Stan wondered if he was imagining the same thing he was: the two of them, naked and entwined, panting the other’s name. His arm fell from Stan’s shoulder and the two stared furiously at the ground.

“So,” Stan said to break the razor-sharp tension. “Taco Bell?”

“Yes,” Kyle replied too quickly. “Yes. Sounds great.”

 

Stan bought Kyle a burrito with just about every salad and sauce under the sun. They ate at their usual table by the door, Kyle giving a detailed list about all the flaws in the opposing players’ game. Stan nodded and laughed in all the appropriate places but in reality he wasn’t listening too keenly on what Kyle was saying; he was too distracted by the bobbing of Kyle’s Adam’s apple as he ate.

He was mesmerized as he watched the jack-knifing rise and fall of the lump whenever Kyle swallowed. He tried to remember if he’d kissed it that night, tried to think back and picture any of his own hickeys he might’ve left on Kyle’s neck.

He was shocked out of his reverie when Kyle leaned over and swiped his thumb across Stan’s lip. The pad of his thumb dragged slightly over his teeth and all function fled Stan’s brain.

He stared dumbly as Kyle wiped his thumb on a napkin and simply said, “You had some mayo,” in response to Stan’s gaping mouth.

 _It’s fine_ , he told himself as they continued to eat in awkward silence. Kyle did stuff like that all the time—tucking in shirts or smoothing back hairs that poked out of place. Cartman loved to tease that he was acting like his mother, which just sent Kyle on a mini tirade, but didn’t stop him from doing it.

_It’s a completely normal, friendly gesture._

As they walked home in the cold air, Stan tugged at his thin hoodie, berating himself for not bringing his coat. His teeth began to chatter when Kyle dropped his heavy sports jacket over his head.

“It’s cool, dude,” Kyle said, shoving the jacket into Stan’s chest when he tried to give it back. “I’m not even cold.”

Stan eyed his bare arms but the jacket, warm from Kyle’s body, was too enticing to pass up and he wrapped it tightly around himself, that heady _Kyle_ scent encasing him.

_It’s fine. Offering your jacket to a cold friend is a completely platonic thing to do. Nothing gay about it._

They walked home, pretending it had never happened.

 

Stan liked being average. Especially when it came to academics. He coasted by quite easily in most of his classes but when it came to Chemistry he was hopeless. Chemistry seemed exceptionally cruel a subject to be the middle ground between science and maths, both of which he wasn’t particularly fond of.

He probably should’ve realized asking Kyle for tutoring help wasn’t a good idea for a couple of reasons. The first being that he couldn’t concentrate on something as boring and trite as ionic bonds when Kyle was in front of him. The second was that Kyle wasn’t the most patient person in the world.

“Okay,” Kyle sighed, his voice graveled with annoyance, “for the third time: Oxidation and reduction reactions in compounds are the process of losing and gaining electrons. To remember which is which, just think, ‘LEO the lion says GER.’ Which means, ‘Lose Electrons Oxidation, Gain Electrons Reduction.’ Get it?”

“Uh, yes,” Stan replied, glancing up from where he’d been doodling a space ship.

“Good. So what does Leo the lion say?”

“Um. ‘Ger’?”

“Yes, good. And what does it all stand for?”

“It- uh- ‘Lose Electrons Oxygen-‘“

“No!” Kyle smacked his palm on the table. Several heads in the library turned their way but Kyle didn’t even glance their way. “When did I ever say oxygen? We’re talking about compounds, not elements!”

“Sorry,” Stan said but he rolled his eyes. “All this stuff just sounds the same to me.”

Stan swore he saw Kyle’s eye twitch.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. Remember, you asked me for help and I’ve got better things to do than try and help some smart-ass who’s going to fail anyway.”

Stan threw his arms up, tipping his textbook off the table. “Then why don’t you just go, huh? Since I’m gonna fail anyway?”

“Fine!” Kyle slammed his book shut and swept it into his bag all in one motion. “I will. Have fun getting an F.” He stood up so fast his chair almost toppled over and stalked from the library.

Stan huffed, crossing his arms and sinking back in his chair. He wouldn’t meet the stare of the little audience they’d gotten the attention of and instead focused on his shoelaces.

He was still in a bad mood by the time he got home. He didn’t return his mom’s greeting when he stomped up the stairs to his room.

Stupid Kyle, making him feel like a dumbass. Who needed his help anyway?

Stan didn’t touch his textbook though, instead cranking up the heat in the shower and standing under the spray for longer than was environmentally responsible. He told himself he’d collect some cans for recycling to make up for it when he stepped into his room and found Kyle sitting on his bed.

He wasn’t overly surprised at the sight of him, after all they’d been climbing into the others’ room unannounced for years, but he did raise an eyebrow at him.

That familiar defiant spark was burning in Kyle’s eyes but instead of giving him the usual defensive explanation for why he was there, even though they were fighting, he took one look at Stan and darted his gaze away, colour flooding his cheeks.

Stan glanced down at his own bare chest; he’d only grabbed a pair of sweatpants on his way to the bathroom. He knew he should probably cover himself and save both of them a lot of awkward tension but he thought, _fuck it. Why should I care? Let him be embarrassed._

“What’re you doing here?” he asked blandly.

“Could you put a shirt on?” Kyle asked, still pointedly looking away.

Stan’s hands fell to his hips. “Why? What’s the matter? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Kyle’s glare snapped to his and he shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.” His cheeks were still red as he pulled some laminated cards out of his bag. “I made these stupid flash cards on the periodic table. We can save compounds for later.” He looked at Stan as if daring him to keep being difficult.

Stan looked at the cards in Kyle’s hands. He’d colour-coded them by the looks of it. And laminated them.

His hands slipped off his hips and a smile tugged at his mouth. He laughed once and pulled the first shirt he could find on the floor over his head. He fell onto the bed beside Kyle, allowing himself to smile easily now. Trust Kyle to charm him with flash cards.

“Okay,” Stan said. “Hit me with those elements.”

The fire dimmed in Kyle’s stare and he smiled back, relaxing against the headboard. He flipped over the first card, displaying the letters Fe.

“Okay. Name this element.”

 

They had Gym second period on Tuesdays, which both Stan and Kyle weren’t particularly fond of but they got by. What they outright hated was dodge ball. After their brief stint as world champions in elementary school, they’d soured to the already pointless, dumb, painful game. But that didn’t matter. Coach had decided they were playing dodge ball that day.

Stan stared across the court at Kyle. Both boys narrowed their eyes at the other. Off the court they may have been best friends, but on it they were mortal enemies.

Coach blew the whistle and they all converged on the rubber balls lined up on the halfway line.

Stan hung back as all the hot-heats—Kyle at the front—swooped into the firing line. He watched as Bebe took out Token with a fastball. She bumped her hip against Wendy’s and they both smiled.

“You guys, I know this is a contact sport, but try and keep it professional, okay?” Cartman called out, his voice cutting over the noise as it always did.

Bebe wordlessly passed her ball to Wendy, who reared back and swung for Cartman’s nose. She hit her target with a spurt of blood.

Cartman fell on his ass with a yelp. He jumped up and glared furiously while he pinched his gushing nose.

“ _Ow_! Wendy, you fucking bitch! That hurt!”

“Good!” Wendy yelled back, flushed with anger. “I hope your face is crushed to powder.”

Stan shook his head as the coach yelled at both of them to cut it out.

“She can be so violent,” a voice said beside him and Stan turned to see Gary bouncing next to him.

Stan smiled at the blonde boy. He’d been oddly nice to Stan lately—lending Stan extra change when he was short at the lunch line, offering to let him copy his homework, giving him little compliments like, “that shirt looks great on you, Stan.” Just being his super nice self, and then some more on top of that. Kyle, who had never liked him, seemed to be matching Gary’s pleasantness with animosity.

Stan shrugged. “He kind of deserves it.”

“Oh, no, I agree completely,” Gary said, throwing a ball and taking out Clyde. “She just frightens me sometimes.”

“Dude, I’m with you,” Stan replied and they both laughed.

Gary’s pearly teeth flashed when he laughed, sending a little thrill through Stan. He was actually pretty cute when he thought about it.

They played the game at each other’s sides. Stan mostly ducking and Gary getting a few sweet catches.

Kenny launched a ball straight at Craig’s stomach, sending him immediately to his knees with a groan. Kenny wasn’t halfway through with his apology when Tweek picked the ball up from beside Craig’s crumpled figure and pegged it at Kenny with a wild shriek, hitting him in the crotch.

“Don’t you hit Craig!”

The hands of every guy in the gym dropped to cup their jewels and they winced in sympathy.

“ _Dude_ ,” Kenny wheezed from where he’d fallen to the ground. He was curled up in a ball, his hands wedged between his legs. “The fuck…?”

“Okay,” Coach said, blowing his whistle again. “Let’s try and avoid hitting each other in the dick, okay?”

“What about pussy shots?” Cartman shouted from his place on the sideline, earning him a glower from Wendy.

“Those’re out too,” Coach answered.

Gary clicked his tongue. “Some people are so quick to act with violence.” He smiled and grasped the crook of Stan’s elbow. “It just shows how emotionally unbalanced they a-“

A ball hit Gary square on the forehead, snapping his head back. He toppled over with a cry and slammed down on his back. Stan lurched back in surprise and glanced to the other side of the court.

Everyone was warily eying Kyle, whose shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breaths. His arm was still out-stretched and he quickly snatched it back when he saw Stan looking at him.

“What?” he said to the silent court. “It’s game on, man.” He turned with a huff to retrieve a fallen ball and everyone hurried to follow suit.

Stan stared at Kyle’s flushed skin and swallowed thickly. He had always snapped to attention the moment Kyle did anything in anger. He was so imposing when he got like that, glaring out at the world like some raging sun. Stan couldn’t take his eyes off him.

He watched as someone helped Gary to the sideline but found he didn’t miss him too badly.

If Gary gave him small thrills, Kyle left him scorched from the inside out.

They showered with their backs to each other, pretending it had never happened.

 

Stan would be lying if he said he liked Davíd. Okay, it wasn’t that he disliked him—he didn’t think he was a shitty person or anything—it was just that Kyle did like him. A lot.

He hadn’t been bothered when Davíd first moved to town and had his feud with Cartman, which Kyle involved himself in as much as possible. It had almost been a relief not to have to listen to Kyle rant about Cartman. But then he began to notice Kyle spending less and less time with him and more with Davíd. He’d expected them to remain casual friends but it seemed their shared hatred for Cartman had sparked a connection between the two.

They were both in AP classes—this was Kyle’s favourite excuse for why he couldn’t hang out with Stan: “I can’t, Davíd’s helping me with Spanish, so I’m helping him with English.” They both had passion for things Stan didn’t care about, which wasn’t helping Stan’s belief that Kyle was too smart for him. It wasn’t uncommon for Kyle to spend hours regaling him with all the witty, intellectual conversations he had with Davíd, and it was beginning to irk him.

He glared across the football field where he could see Kyle and David squished next to each other on the bleachers. Kyle was talking animatedly, gesturing with his mittens, and very much _not_ watching Stan.

Stan tried to focus on the game but he kept glancing over at the bleachers and mistiming his passes. He received the ball and popped his arm back, ready to throw, when his treacherous eyes betrayed him, and he looked over to the crowd. His world seemed to glaze over with red when his gaze landed on Davíd

looping his scarf around a shivering Kyle’s neck. Even from a distance Stan could see how close they were sitting, and was that Davíd’s hand on Kyle’s leg-?

A solid weight barreled into Stan’s chest, tackling him to the ground with the force of a steam train. His back slammed into the hard-packed earth, knocking the breath from his lungs. The guy was instantly scrambling off him to grab the ball knocked loose from Stan’s grip. Stan was left lying on the ground, feeling like a wrecking ball had hit him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Stan?” one of his teammates yelled at him.

Stan sat up, his head spinning. He looked to the bleachers. Kyle wasn’t even looking at him.

 

Stan almost ran from the field when the final whistle blew. They had lost heavily, almost solely because of him and he didn’t want to spend another second in the disappointed gazes of his teammates. He power-walked to the bleachers, where Kyle and Davíd were lingering, huddled together in the cold, the steam clouds from their breath mingling.

“Hey,” Stan said too loudly when he reached them. He wanted to physically pry them apart and put some space between them.

Kyle blinked as though he’d just remembered what he was doing on a football field and smiled.

“Hey, dude. Sucky loss.”

“Heavy days,” Davíd agreed, nodding sagely.

Stan wanted to tell him to fuck off. What right did he have, standing there looking like some model in a t-shirt, while the rest of them were freezing their asses off in wind-breakers?

“Thanks,” he replied flatly. “I didn’t know you liked football, _Day_ -vid.”

Davíd’s eye twitched but he didn’t correct Stan. Kyle did cut him a look though.

“I don’t,” Davíd said, smiling pleasantly. “But Kyle asked me to come so how could I say no?”

Stan looked at Kyle, unsaid accusations burning on his tongue, but Kyle just stared blankly back at him.

“Well, anyway,” Stan said, choosing to forgive this betrayal, “we good for Taco Bell?”

Kyle winced. “Actually, I was thinking we could skip Taco Bell today?”

“What? Why?”

Kyle nodded at Davíd. “Davíd was gonna show me this cool donut shop that just opened up on the edge of town. That’s cool, right? I mean, we get Taco Bell all the time. We’re gonna get fat, dude.”

“Well, one more burrito isn’t gonna hurt,” Stan argued, aware that he had been made a pest that needed to be ditched.

“Come on, man,” Kyle sighed, adjusting Davíd’s scarf around his neck. “You lost tonight so I’m actually saving you a couple bucks.”

The comment hurt a little more than it should have.

“We can go tomorrow, okay?”

Stan bit down on his lip to keep from pouting. “It’s cool, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

Kyle didn’t look convinced but Davíd nudged him so he gave Stan a wave good-bye and walked off, into the thin crowd.

Stan watched them go, thinking of Kyle’s jacket, which he still hadn’t returned, lying across the chair in his room. He wanted to both wrap himself up in that jacket and burn it all at once.

He also thought Davíd should move back to Idaho.

 

When Jimmy invited the whole grade to a party at his house Stan and Kyle had been hesitant. Was it a good idea? Had enough time since The Incident Which Never Happened passed for it to be cool? Could Stan be in that environment with booze and loud music and _Kyle_ without being bombarded with the memories of squeaking bedsprings?

It was Kyle who slipped it casually into conversation that Jimmy’s party sounded like fun and they should definitely go.

“Not, like, together or anything,” Kyle had rushed to say. “Just, like, it would be fun if both of us were there. At the same time.”

“I mean, sure, dude,” Stan had agreed because what else could he do? “If you’re cool, than I’m cool.”

They’d sealed it with a fist bump and spoke of it no more. Stan just hoped that Kyle’s wanting to go didn’t have anything to do with the knowledge that David would be there too.

He shrugged off any anticipation of the party until Friday. He walked home from the bus stop without a parting word to Kyle.

 _God_ , he thought, staring dumbly at the contents of his closet, _is this a bad_ idea?

He tugged at the collar of the baby blue turtleneck he had on. Was it too much? He sighed in frustration and tore the sweater off. He rifled through his drawers until he heard a knock on his door and his dad poked his head through.

“Hey, son,” Randy said with a nod. “You headin’ out tonight?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan replied, not turning around.

“Big party?”

“Something like that.”

“Will there be girls?”

“Yes. Dad,” Stan gritted out, irritation beginning to rise in his chest.

Randy, not seeming to pick up on Stan’s mood kept going. “Any particular girl?”

“No, Dad,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t any one girl, okay?”

“Because if there _was_ ,” Randy drawled, “I’d go with that one.” He nodded to a dark gray button-down hanging off the back of Stan’s chair. He gave Stan a smile, saluted him, and backed out the door, closing it behind him.

Stan eyed the shirt. He’d learnt too many times that taking his dad’s advice was a bad idea. Still…he didn’t have any better plans and if he didn’t leave pronto, he was going to be past fashionably late. Sighing, he shrugged on the shirt and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows.

When he dashed out the front door in the shirt Randy didn’t say anything but Stan could feel his pleased gaze follow him out of the house. A second later Kenny pulled up to the curb.

“Hey, Marshmallow,” Kenny sang through the open driver’s window. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

He was driving his brother’s shitty car, with an exhaust pipe that puffed out more smoke than a chimney. Stan hated the thing but it was better than walking. He slid into the passenger’s seat and frowned when his hand grasped at air over his shoulder.

“Where’s the seat belt?” he asked.

Kenny gave an unconcerned shrug. “I dunno, man. This bucket of bolts is barely keeping it together. At least the seat’s still intact.”

“Dude, I seriously hate this car.”

Kenny punched the gear stick into first. “Preaching to the choir, man.”

They pulled off the curb with a screech and a cloud of smoke. Kenny cracked open his window as they drove their way to Jimmy’s house on the other side of town.

“So,” Kenny began, “what’s goin’ on?”

Stan leaned back in his cracked leather seat. “What’s going on with what?”

Kenny sighed as he rounded a corner with more force than necessary. “You know, Stan, you’re dumb, stalling questions are really starting to piss me off. _Kyle_ , man. What else?”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing going on, okay? Would you stop asking about it?”

“Really?” Kenny asked doubtfully. “So you and Kyle are totally chill?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing there?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay, so if, hypothetically—because we only ever speak hypothetically—Kyle hooked up with someone tonight, you’d be totally fine with that?”

“Yes, I would,” Stan answered automatically, though the thought of Kyle with someone else made him want to puke.

“Okay then.” Kenny lifted a hand off the wheel in surrender. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thank you,” Stan said as they pulled up to Jimmy’s street.

Cars were scattered on Jimmy’s yard and the road around his house, making a clear beacon of a party in the works. Stan could hear the music pumping inside as he stepped out of Kevin McCormick’s death machine. He followed Kenny to the door, an odd tightness wrapping around his chest with every step. Was Kyle already there?

Kenny rang the doorbell out of courtesy before letting himself in, Stan trailing behind him. He stepped through then immediately froze in the doorway.

Bebe was hanging her jacket on the coat rack. She glanced up as they walked in and her gaze caught Stan’s for a moment before they both cut their eyes away. Kenny mumbled something about getting them both a drink and he took off for the kitchen, leaving Stan to sweat.

“Hey,” Stan began tentatively. His hands flexed at his sides, unsure of what to do.

“Hey,” Bebe returned, eyes narrowed with caution.

Stan decided to stuff his hands in his pockets before remembering he wasn’t wearing his coat and slipped them into the tight pockets of his jeans instead. “You been here long?”

“No, I just got here two minutes ago.”

“Where’s Wendy?”

Bebe’s stare instantly hardened. “Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t,” Stan hurried to say, realizing his misstep. “I just assumed, I don’t know, that she came here with you?”

Bebe let her arms fall from where they were folded over her chest to loosely grasp her hips. She sighed and her gaze softened from hard stones of brown to a relaxed look.

“For your information we didn’t come together. I’m supposed to meet her in a minute.”

Stan shrugged. “That’s cool.”

Some of the heat came back to Bebe’s eyes and she gave his chest a light poke. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, and Stan noticed that in her heels she had a couple of inches on him, “this on-again off-again thing that’s been going on with you and Wendy since the third grade? It’s over now.”

“I know,” Stan said, stepping back from her sharp finger. “I know that.”

Bebe pursed her lips and gave him a once-over. “Do you?”

Stan sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get it. You and her are…a thing now, I guess. You don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not gonna step on your toes, or whatever. Wendy and me? Not gonna happen.”

“Huh.” Bebe eased back, quirking a plucked eyebrow. “You don’t sound disappointed.”

“We were never going to work out anyway,” Stan said, and the realization of it sank in for the first time. He and Wendy were done. For good this time. “You’re much more her speed.”

Bebe actually laughed at that and Stan found himself grinning along with her.

“Okay, cool,” Bebe smiled. “This is way better than what I thought shit was gonna go down like. It’s good to know you’re cool, Stan. I was half expecting you to be some sniveling dweeb, trying to convince Wendy to go back to you.”

Stan slapped a hand over his chest in mock-hurt. “Great to know you thought I was such an asshole.”

“Hey, I only said ‘half expecting.’” She gave his shoulder a light slap. “Godspeed, Stan.” She winked and sauntered off, assumedly to find Wendy.

Stan, feeling a little weird at the encounter but a bit better about his and Wendy’s break-up, made his way to the kitchen. It was there that he found Kenny, sitting on the island counter amidst a sea of scattered solo cups, drinking a beer with Butters.

“And that’s why the Muppets _A Christmas Carol_ is the best _A Christmas Carol_ ,” Butters said, sipping a ginger ale. “In my opinion, anyways. Well hey, Stan.”

“Hey,” Stan greeted wordlessly taking the cup Kenny handed him and taking a gulp. Tasted like kiwis.

“So,” Kenny said, dropping his voice to a conspiring level, “how’d it go with Bebe?”

“You talked to Bebe?” Butters interjected before Stan could reply. “Gee, your braver than me Stan. I’d never be able to look at her face if I were you.”

“You never look at her anyway,” Kenny commented.

“That’s ‘cause she scares me,” Butters answered with a shudder.

“Yes, I talked to her,” Stan said before Butters could elaborate on all the ways Bebe scared him. “And I think we’re all cool now.”

“Really?” Kenny asked.

“Yeah,” Stan nodded. “I think we really are.”

They’re conversation was interrupted by a spring of cheers from the living room. Stan glanced over to see a ring of people squished around what he assumed was the coffee table. He poked Token, who had just walked from the ring with a shake of his head.

“What the hell’s going on over there?” he asked.

“What else?” Token drawled. “Cartman and Kyle.”

Stan stalked past Token, into the living room. He pushed his way through the crowd until he came out the other side and saw them.

Cartman and Kyle were down on their knees, elbows propped up on the corner of the coffee table, hands locked together. They grunted as they tried to force the other’s arm down.

“What the fuck,” Stan groaned.

“You’re going down, Jew,” Cartman said between his gritted teeth. His round cheeks were bright red as he pushed against Kyle, who wasn’t budging.

“The only place I’m going is to your funeral after I beat you into the ground!” Kyle hissed, a bead of sweat breaking on his brow.

“At least buy me— _agh!—_ dinner first,” Cartman panted.

Their hands shook between them. The ring of spectators jeered and egged them on, which worked spectacularly well, given this was Kyle and Cartman.

Behind Kyle was Davíd, who kept going to rub Kyle’s shoulder but stopping just shy of touching him. Instead he yelled encouragements and pumped his fist whenever Kyle began to steer Cartman’s arm down.

Their arms quivered—Kyle’s muscles taut against his skin, and Cartman’s jiggling with effort—but no one seemed to be winning. Kyle let out a cry as he put all his strength behind a final push but before Cartman’s arm could hit the surface the glass tabletop shattered beneath them.

This only made the crowd erupt into even louder cheers. Kyle and Cartman sprang apart, shaking their arms and cursing.

“Fuck!” Cartman shouted, dusting glass shards off his sleeve.

“For the record,” Kyle yelled from where he’d fallen against David’s chest, “I would’ve won!”

“You would’ve won shit!”

“D-Damn it, guys!” Jimmy exclaimed, stumbling through the now dispersing crowd. “My parents are going to kuh-kuh-kill me!”

“Well, shit, Jimmy!” Cartman reared back, throwing up his arms. “I nearly _died_ , so which of us really has it worse?”

“Ugh, whatever!” Kyle stood up, dragging Davíd with him. “I’m done with all of this.” He locked his hand around Davíd’s elbow and tugged him toward the stairs. “Come on.”

Stan watched them go. He considered calling out to Kyle but decided against it. Instead he watched David being lead away by a fuming Kyle, laughing his ass off about the whole ordeal.

“Can that please be the most dramatic thing that happens tonight?” Token pleaded to no one in particular.

“Night’s still young,” Kenny said with a wink.

Stan eyed him warily.

 

Stan hadn’t known that Jimmy could play the saxophone, yet there he was, sat on the lip of the stair railing, blaring out the opening thread of _Careless Whisper_. Stan sipped from his cup and swayed with the little crowd that had gathered at the foot of the staircase. Cartman and Kenny were slow dancing, throwing in some dramatic dips and everyone around Stan was laughing and jiving with Jimmy’s sax but for some reason he just wasn’t feeling it. The music was good, the booze tasted okay, and apart from Cartman and Kyle’s arm-wrestling bought and the broken table, the crowd was good too. He just couldn’t seem to find that pleasant buzz that came with just the right amount of alcohol mixed with a good time.

Maybe it had something to do with Clyde and Craig being terrible at Guitar Hero in the living room. Maybe it was when he’d seen Wendy across the kitchen earlier she’d pointedly turned her gaze away and ignored him. Maybe it was his view of Kyle and Davíd sitting across from each other on the sofa, tossing nuts into the other’s mouth. Maybe.

“Hey,” Stan said once Kenny had spun out of Cartman’s arms. “Do you think Davíd likes Kyle?”

Kenny rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. Tough to say. I don’t know, man. What do you think?”

Stan rolled his eyes as Davíd almost fell off the sofa to catch a particularly bad pass from Kyle, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing. “I don’t know. Probably.”

“And does that,” Kenny leaned over to whisper in Stan’s ear, “upset you?”

Stan shivered from the ghost of Kenny’s breath over his skin and shoved him away. “No, it doesn’t! I thought I told you to lay off all that.”

Kenny just laughed and ruffled Stan’s hair. “You’re just too easy.”

Stan batted his hand away and huffed, choosing to ignore the nut fight that had broken out on the sofa.

 

The cup was warm in Stan’s hand. He glared across the room at Kyle and Davíd, squished together on the one beanbag. Davíd had his arm slung around Kyle’s shoulders as they laughed about something Stan probably wouldn’t find funny.

There was a small gathering that had moved from the ground floor, up to Jimmy’s parents’ bedroom. Stan was sat with Kenny and Jimmy by a speaker that was playing music from Jimmy’s phone. He could hear Wendy and Bebe in the en suite and Clyde, Craig, and Tweek were sat on the bed, playing cards. Stan had been watching Clyde and Tweek cheat to beat Craig for the past twenty minutes when Kenny spoke to the whole room.

“Hey, Jimmy, that a walk-in closet?”

“Sure is, Kenny,” Jimmy answered, turning down Kendrick Lamar. “W-Why do you ask?”

Kenny shot Stan a look before his teeth gleamed in a mischievous grin. “Why don’t we all play a little Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

“I’m in,” Clyde immediately said.

“No way,” Craig said, throwing down his loosing hand of cards. “I’ve been down this road before. You guys are going to get me and Tweek in there, lock the door and just leave us. Well, it’s not happening this time.”

“Yeah!” Tweek chimed in. “I had to break down the last door. Jesus! I could’ve gotten so many splinters.”

“I’m going to forward this motion, since it was my door he broke down,” Clyde said, aiming a glare at Tweek who just stuck his tongue out.

“If we all promise not to lock the door and bolt, are we game to play?” Kenny asked.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“I’m game,” Davíd said from the beanbag and Kyle followed with a, “Me too.”

Stan saw the little smile that passed between the two and swallowed. Why were his hands sweating? Why did he suddenly want to pull Davíd up by the ear and put him outside like a misbehaving puppy?

He was crazy. Sleeping with Kyle had made him crazy.

“Alright then.” Kenny slapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. “Davíd, I challenge you to take Kyle to heaven, you saucy minx.”

Stan’s stomach dropped. He span around to Kenny who blinked innocently at him.

Davíd chuckled as he stood. “If you insist.” He held out his hand for Kyle to take.

Kyle’s skin had flushed a pretty pink as he threaded his fingers through Davíd’s and allowed himself to be lead to the closet, where Kenny kicked the door shut behind them.

“Your seven minutes start now,” Kenny said, tapping his watch.

Stan glared at the door, thinking, maybe, if he stared hard enough he would develop x-ray vision.

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to do it in seven minutes?” Clyde asked.

He and Jimmy were sat by the closet with their ears pressed to the door.

“The average time f-for interc-course is eight and a half min-minutes,” Jimmy said.

“Yeah, but that’s once your in the crib, right?”

“You’re still a virgin, aren’t you, Clyde?” Craig asked.

Clyde just shushed him and pressed his ear harder against the door.

Stan leaned over to Kenny and dug his elbow into the other boy’s ribs. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?” he hissed under his breath.

“Ow!” Kenny nursed his injured ribs. “I’m not doing anything. You and Kyle aren’t a thing, and don’t want to be, remember? So, it shouldn’t bother you at all that he’s in there right now, probably getting hot ‘n heavy with Davíd.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Stan said between clenched teeth.

Kenny nodded, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “That’s very convincing.”

Time slogged on at a snail’s pace and to Stan those seven minutes felt like seven months. He stared intently at the door, considering joining Clyde and Jimmy with their attempted snooping but refrained because of that knowing grin Kenny was giving him. So, he stayed put, his imagination picturing every wild, pornographic scenario that could be playing out a few feet away from him.

Finally, the lords of time seemed to take mercy on him and Kenny tapped his watch.

“Okay, that’s time,” Kenny said, knocking on the door. “You guys can come out now.”

The door creaked open and it was Kyle who stepped out first. He glided past Jimmy and Clyde’s bouncing eyebrows, not deigning to look at them, his nose turned up in his default, self-dignified stance. Davíd stumbled out behind him, whistling a jaunty tune. He cracked a grin as Kenny leaned forward to study his neck and shoved the other boy away.

Stan tried not to stare too hard, examining Kyle and Davíd from head to toe, looking for any hint of unkempt appearance. Was Kyle’s hair exceptionally dishevelled or in its natural unruly state? Had Davíd’s pants been hanging that low on his hips before he’d entered the closet? He couldn’t remember.

“I want to choose the next victims,” Clyde pleaded to Kenny, who had somehow become the dictator of the game. “ _Pleeease_?”

Kenny tapped his foot in consideration as Clyde clasped his hands together and got down on his knees. Eventually Kenny shrugged.

“It’s probably a bad idea, but I’m going to allow it.”

“Yes!” Clyde pumped his fist. He jumped to his feet and rounded on Stan. “You’re in, Stan.”

Stan blinked at the finger Clyde pointed at him. “Huh?”

“And you’re going with…” he trailed off, as though he hadn’t thought this far ahead, when Wendy emerged from the en suite. “Wendy!” Clyde pounced on her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the closet. “Old flames, get in there!”

Wendy’s eyelashes fluttered like confused butterflies. She tugged her hand free of Clyde’s as he nudged her into the closet, and then shoved Stan in after her. Their shoulders bumped together as they were stuffed into the cramped space and Wendy instantly sprang away from him, as though his touch had burned her.

Clyde stood in the entryway with a huge, toothy grin. “You kids have fun now.” And he slammed the door shut.

Stan and Wendy were stunned into silence long enough to hear Craig’s muffled voice on the other side.

“Clyde, you moron.”

Wendy appeared to snap out of her stupor and she rounded on Stan with knitted eyebrows.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

Stan held his hands out to placate her. “We’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven—it wasn’t my idea—and Clyde’s an idiot.” Wendy threw her arms up and Stan rushed to add, “Nothing can happen here; I think me and Bebe are actually pretty cool now, so-“

“Of course nothing’s going to happen!” Wendy snapped. She had that familiar furious blaze in her eyes that told Stan to back off. “I step out for two seconds and you rope me into this stupid game.” She took two long steps to the door and slapped it with her palm. “Open up!”

“You’ve only used forty seconds of your seven minutes,” Kenny sang back.

“Kenny, you open this door or I’m going to drag you downstairs and kick your ass in front of everyone,” Wendy warned, her fists clenched tightly by her sides.

“Those’re big words coming from a girl locked in a closet,” came Kenny’s reply amidst a sea of snickers.

Wendy bared her teeth. “Kenny, I swear to God-“

“Wendy, just cool it,” Stan sighed, slumping to the floor. “It’s only six minutes. We don’t even have to do anything.”

She opened her mouth as if to further complain but Stan shot her one of his looks that said, _you know I’m right and you’re being stubborn_. He’d used that look a lot with her over the years. She held herself for the moment and Stan could see the struggle in her of whether to keep fighting or give in. She teetered on that edge for a few silent seconds before falling into a sitting position opposite him with a huff.

She blew a loose strand of hair off her face and fixed him with her steely eyes. “Well, this is just great.”

Stan leaned back against a pair of boots. “You know, you could at least act like I’m not the worst person to get locked in a closet with.”

Wendy folded her legs up to her chest and glared over the top of her knees. “Well, excuse me if I’m not so touchy-feely with you.”

“’Touchy-feely’?” Stan laughed incredulously. “You haven’t talked to me once since we broke up.”

“We’ve talked,” she said coolly. “Or have you forgotten Clyde’s party already?”

Stan winced, remembering the less-than-flattering words he’d hurled at Wendy that night. Their break-up had been pretty fresh and seeing her with someone else had ticked something off inside him.

“Okay, yeah, I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t cool of me. But _you_ didn’t exactly waste any time before you decided to go be a lesbian with Bebe.”

“I didn’t _decide_ anything,” she hissed. “Just like I’m sure you didn’t _decide_ anything either.”

Stan jerked back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ugh.” Wendy let her legs drop back down and tipped her head back until it thumped against the wall. She rolled her chin onto her chest and stared at Stan with weary eyes. “Do you remember what I said the night we ended things?”

“That we were caught in a vicious cycle and one of us needed to end it but I didn’t have the guts to do it so you did it for me?” Stan rattled off, still feeling a bit of a sting at the memory. “Is that what you mean?”

“Partially, yes,” she said. “But it was more than that. We’re not meant for each other, and I think you know that.”

“Because of Bebe?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

In the brief moments he’d seen them together he could already recognise that Bebe did things for Wendy that he never could. She made her happy, for one thing.

Wendy smiled at him for the first time since their break-up. “Bebe just kind of…happened. I don’t want you to think that I’m with her as some kind of petty revenge plot against you.”

“I don’t think that,” he rushed to say.

“Good. But it wasn’t just Bebe. I’m really talking about Kyle.”

Stan’s stomach curled in on itself.

“What do you mean by that?” His voice came out reedy and strained.

“Stan, come on.” Wendy levelled one of her own looks at him. This one said, _stop beating around the bush, I know you’re full of shit_. “It’s so _obvious_ when it comes to you two. Do you want to hear what the majority of our relationship sounded like? ‘Sorry, Wendy, I can’t hang out today, Kyle needs me. Hey, Wendy, do you want to hear this really funny thing Kyle said today? Wendy, don’t all of Kyle’s crushes suck?’”

“I don’t sound like that,” Stan mumbled, though his stomach was tying itself into tighter knots.

“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “Look, Stan, it’s fine, okay? I think I accepted it a long time ago. Now you just need to accept it too.”

“Accept what?” Stan pressed, wanting to disappear into the closet and never come out.

Wendy gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, maybe that you’re in love with him? And have been since we were kids?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Stan asked, not wanting Wendy to answer.

Could it be possible? Was he in love with Kyle? They’d been best friends since they were babies, they’d been at every birthday party, every hour of need, every eventful moment in each other’s lives—of course Stan loved him. But was he _in love_ with him? Did he want to hold Kyle’s hand as they walked through the halls at school? Kiss him good-bye when they parted at the bus stop? Do all the little things he stopped himself from doing, like smoothing Kyle’s hair back from his face when it got too messy or stroke the nape of his neck when got agitated. Did he want Kyle to look at him and only him?

A small but clear voice in the back of his head said, _Fuck yeah_.

Shit.

“You okay?”

Wendy’s voiced smashed him out of his own mind and brought him back to reality, which happened to be Jimmy’s parents’ closet. He snapped his head up to look at her inquiring gaze.

“You looked like you were having a bit of a moment there.”

“I think I was.” He licked his dry lips, desperately wanting a beer or something. “Wendy…what if you’re right?” He couldn’t look at her as he said it. “What if I really am…?”

“I don’t know,” she said plainly. “But you’ll probably work it out. You usually do.”

He wanted to say that ‘probably’ and ‘usually’ weren’t comforting sentiments with the crisis he was dealing with, but before he could utter a sound the door was swinging open and there was Bebe. She had both hands braced on the doorframe and stared in at them intently.

“Babe,” Bebe gasped, falling to her knees and fussing over Wendy. “Are you okay?” She shot Stan a venomous look. “Did he-?”

“No, Bebe,” Wendy cut in and Stan sagged with relief. “He’s fine. Clyde’s just an idiot.”

“Of course he is,” Bebe sighed.

“What the fuck are they doing out there?” Wendy asked as the three of them rose to their feet.

“They’re all gone,” Bebe said. “I came out of the bathroom and heard you two in here.” They stepped out of the closet and, sure enough, the room was empty. “I guess they all went downstairs.”

“Those fuckers,” Stan cursed. “They promised.”

Wendy and Bebe made to leave and Stan paused a moment before following them. He frowned at the pinching in his chest. That Kyle would leave him locked in a closet was both very dickish and very in character. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little ignored, and what with his newfound realisation that he might be in love with Kyle, he was kind of loosing it.

He stomped downstairs with the girls, the pulsing music definitely louder now than it had been before. They hit the ground floor and Wendy and Bebe disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Stan to fend for himself. He paced into the living room and was greeted by two assaults on his senses: the first was someone was blasting _Don’t You Want Me?_ from the surround sound, and the second was Kyle and Davíd glued to each other as they danced.

The whole house seemed to have converged on the living room to dance to The Human League but the two stood out like beacons in the crowd. Davíd’s hands were on Kyle’s hips, steering their bodies as they bounced with the throng of other dancers. Kyle had one arm slung around Davíd’s neck, and held a plastic cup above his head in the other hand. He was grinning and laughing freely, taking turns between pitchy singing, gulping from his cup, and burying his nose in Davíd’s hair.

Stan hadn’t been keeping a keen eye on Kyle’s drinking but he was clearly well ahead of Stan’s guess.

Stan thought of his options before his mind narrowed and set itself on one clear path: to Kyle. He swiped a cup from some kid’s hand, skulled its contents, threw the cup aside, and stormed into the crowd, ignoring the indignant kid. He shoved and elbowed his way between drunk teenagers, swatting at wandering hands and shrugging out of sudden grips. He could see Kyle and Davíd; they were so close now, only ten feet away, five feet-

He stopped dead in his tracks when Davíd surged forward and kissed Kyle. Kyle blinked in surprise, shocked still for a moment, before he dropped his cup and threaded his fingers through Davíd’s hair, melting into the kiss. No one around them but Stan appeared to notice.

Stan’s freeze only lasted a second. He snapped himself out of it, told himself, _move, man, Kyle’s right there_. He stepped up to the pair, fisted his hand in Kyle’s shirt and hauled him back, ripping his lips off Davíd’s.

Davíd staggered forward. “The fuck-?”

“Dude!” Kyle whirled on him, ripping his arm away. “What the fuck’re you doing?”

“Kyle, I need to talk to you,” Stan insisted, grabbing Kyle’s arm this time and pulling him to his side. “Right now.”

Kyle tried to tear his arm free but Stan kept his grip rock solid and hauled him off the dance floor. Davíd yelled something in Spanish after him but Stan paid him no mind. He dragged Kyle into what looked to be Jimmy’s room and kicked the door shut behind them.

Kyle finally managed to break his arm free and immediately punched Stan’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Stan jumped back and rubbed the offended shoulder. “That hurt!”

“Good!” Kyle shouted, his face as red as his hair. “You asshole! What do you think you’re doing?”

Stan forgot all about his bruised shoulder. He stepped towards Kyle, who, in turn, took a step back.

“Don’t hook-up with Davíd,” he pleaded. “Don’t date him, don’t be his boyfriend. Please.”

“ _What?”_ Kyle’s brow was still creased with anger but now confusion was riddled in his eyes as well. “Why the fuck not? What’s it matter to you?”

“Because,” Stan said, trying with all his might not to let his voice waver, “you shouldn’t be with him. You should be with me.”

Kyle paused. He blinked at him as though he’d heard wrong. “What’d you say?”

“I’ve kind of gone through a bit of a life-changing journey these past ten minutes, but it’s made me realise something.” Stan’s heart bounced like a wild pinball around his chest. Kyle’s striking brown eyes were fixed on him and, as always, he was helpless under Kyle’s complete attention. “It’s you and me Kyle; it’s always been you and me. You’ve always been _it_ for me, I was just too blind and dumb to realise it until now.” He curled his fingers into the collar of Kyle’s polo shirt and tugged him closer. “I don’t want to pretend it never happened anymore, ‘cause it _did_ happen and I don’t know about you, but I don’t regret any of it.”

Kyle had stared at Stan through his rambling speech with a bewildered expression, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hanging slightly open. Once Stan fell quiet, Kyle reached up and untangled Stan’s fingers from his collar, then held their joined hands between them, all the while his face still screwed up in puzzlement.

“Are you saying,” he began slowly, eyes closed, “that you’re now dealing with the same shit I’ve been dealing with since _Clyde’s?_ ”

Stan faltered. “Uh-“

“I’ve been loosing sleep over this shit!” Kyle exploded, all the stillness and quiet of the moment instantly expelled. “I’ve been tossing and turning at night, getting all jumpy every time I think of you, and acting like a shithead because I fucked my best friend and fucked our friendship, and, ‘Uh oh, I might have fallen in love’—and now you’re telling me I’m _‘it’_ for you? Fuck you, Stan!”

The pinball stilled. Warmth unlike anything he’d ever experienced flooded Stan’s chest.

“You’re in love with me?” he whispered, a shaky smile splitting his cheeks.

Kyle stood ramrod straight. His fingers flew to his mouth as though he’d just realised what he’d said. He frowned at Stan and crossed his arms with a grunt.

“I don’t know anymore. Do you love me?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, ‘maybe’ isn’t good enough, Stan!”

“Fine! I love you. Happy?”

“No! That was terrible.”

“Well, shit, what do you want me to do?”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“ _Kyle_ , I love you.”

Kyle pulled Stan’s hands and surged forward, smashing their mouths together. Stan didn’t hesitate, he kissed him back for all he was worth, running his hands over his face, through his hair, down his back, wanting to touch everywhere. Kyle’s hands slid up underneath his shirt and his blunt nails scraped down his back before slipping down to his ass and squeezing.

Stan ripped away from Kyle’s mouth just far enough to mutter against his lips, “Did you kiss Davíd in the closet?”

“Yes,” Kyle panted, their quick breaths mingling together between them.

Stan’s mouth flattened into a straight line and his hands curled tighter around Kyle’s biceps. “Did he touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you touch him?”

“Yes.” A slight smirk pulled at the corners of Kyle’s mouth. “Does that upset you?”

“Extremely.”

Stan leaned forward to bump their noses and Kyle laughed all light and breathless.

“Well, I’m here now,” he said and that was all it took for Stan to seal their mouths together again.

They kissed furiously, tangled around each other and touching everywhere. Stan thought about pulling Kyle down onto the bed and having a repeat of Clyde’s, except this time all the delicious details wouldn’t be lost to a drunken haze, he’d savour every moment of Kyle’s touch. He reached for Kyle’s belt but Kyle broke the kiss and grabbed Stan’s hands, halting them.

“As much as I want to,” Kyle said, his heavy puffs very telling of that want, “we can’t. I’m really kinda drunk right now and I don’t want to do it in another one of our friends’ beds.”

Stan glanced around at the contents of Jimmy’s bedroom and swallowed his lust. “Probably a good call.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Kyle asked and Stan couldn’t say yes fast enough.

They both smoothed down their clothes and hair as best they could before leaving the bedroom and entering the fray once more. Stan led Kyle by the hand through the clusters of people still dancing and drinking. Stan spotted the front door when a thought occurred to him.

“What about Davíd?”

Kyle gave a little smile and shrugged. “We were just messing around. I don’t think he’s really into me like that.”

“Cool.” Stan felt the last of his worries fall free of his shoulders.

He was almost to the door when Kenny spotted them and called out. “You guys leaving?” He was looking at Stan as he said it, his gaze flickering to their joined hands.

Stan saluted him. “It happened,” was all he said before he and Kyle walked out the door.

“What was that about?” Kyle asked once they were on the sidewalk and leaving the noise of the party behind them.

“Kenny knows,” Stan replied, stuffing the hand that wasn’t gripping Kyle into his pocket. “I told him what happened.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. You didn’t tell anyone?”

“Nope. I suffered in solitude.”

They walked through the brisk night air back to Stan’s house. They didn’t talk much during the journey but Stan didn’t mind. He was jubilant, just holding Kyle’s hand, sharing his warmth—he couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so light, like he might float away at any second.

When they finally arrived Stan dug the key out of his pocket and eased the door open. It was close to three in the morning and his parents and Shelly were doubtless asleep in their rooms. He and Kyle crept up the stairs to Stan’s room, where Stan closed the door, shutting them in complete darkness until he turned on his lamp.

“So, I guess you’ll be wanting the blow-up mattress?” Stan said and Kyle whacked him in the arm. Stan grinned, stepping out of the other boy's range. “Or not.”

They shucked their clothes, down to their underwear, and crawled under the covers of Stan’s bed. It only took the graze of Kyle’s fingers against his skin to get Stan straddling his hips and kissing him again. Kyle’s hands flew to his waist and he moaned against Stan’s mouth, the vibrations reverberating down to Stan’s bones.

“You know,” Stan said between kisses, “we could just—right now-“

Kyle tightened his grip and a moment later Stan was flat on his back and Kyle was rolling on top of him. He planted his hands either side of Stan’s head and stared down at him with those intense eyes of his.

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled.

Stan hooked his legs around Kyle’s waist and dragged their hips together. He looped his arms about Kyle’s neck and pulled his head down until their foreheads touched. He could feel the heat of Kyle’s skin beneath his palms and he wanted to be enveloped in that heat.

“Oh, I’m tempting you,” Stan whispered and went to kiss him but Kyle turned his head at the last second and Stan only caught the corner of his mouth.

“My head already feels like it’s been stuffed with wet cotton,” Kyle whined when Stan began to mouth at his neck. “I really don’t want to puke half-way through fucking you.” He eased back until Stan couldn’t keep licking his skin and forced him to look him in the eye. “Tomorrow,” Kyle murmured.

Stan licked his lips and grinned when he saw Kyle’s eyes snap to the action. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Kyle held up a pinkie and Stan locked his own pinkie around it, sealing the deal.

Kyle rolled off him but cuddled against Stan’s back, wrapping his arms around him to spoon him. They laid there for a while in silence as their heartbeats returned to normal and Stan relaxed to the slow rise and fall of Kyle’s chest and the soft whisper of his breathing.

He was on the verge of sleep when he said, “hey. You never actually said you loved me.”

Kyle snuggled even closer behind him and Stan felt the warm press of his lips to the nape of his neck.

“I love you, Stan,” Kyle said, his voice croaky but clear.

A minute later and he was asleep but Stan laid awake, letting Kyle’s words fill his room and his heart for a while before he, too, fell into his own blissful sleep.

 

Stan was never so happy that both his parents and his sister all had jobs as he was the next morning when he got to share an empty house with Kyle. Kyle, who after a coffee and some aspirin, appeared to be over his hangover, crawled on top of Stan, much the way he had the previous night, except this time he didn’t back down with threats of vomit.

He laid Stan down on the bed and fucked him, just like he promised he would. Stan decided then, as he was getting pounded into the mattress, that sober sex was way better than drunken sex. Why, he would argue it was the most wonderful thing in the world, and he honestly wondered what he was going to do whenever he and Kyle were in the same room as each other now. They were never going to get any studying done again, that was for sure.

Afterwards, as they lay in the tangled, soiled sheets of Stan’s bed, Kyle asked what they should do about the guys.

“Should we tell them?”

Stan tilted his head up from its spot on Kyle’s chest to look at him. A beam of sunlight peeked between the curtains, lighting Kyle’s hair on fire. Stan drummed his fingers against Kyle’s ribs and hummed.

“Let that be a problem for Monday’s us,” he answered and snuggled under Kyle’s chin.

Kyle’s laughter rumbled in his chest beneath Stan. “Monday’s you is gonna hate you.”

“Meh. I don’t care.”

And he really didn’t. He was content to fall asleep and spend forever wrapped up in Kyle’s arms, tardiness be damned.

He was in love, damn it. He deserved a little slack. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first South Park fic! Hope you enjoyed yourselves. You can catch me on Tumblr @sp-artdump, where I post drawings and stuff. Cheers.


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